A Brief And Pointless Interlude
by Leigh1
Summary: One morning on the Heart of Gold... There is little plot or character interaction to hint at, and I believe I summed that up nicely in the title. Involving several colours, such as green and yellow and also blue.


A BRIEF AND POINTLESS   
INTERLUDE  
_ Leigh Kile_

On a magnificent white running shoe ship, the _Heart of Gold_, sleek and faster than most things the galaxy had bothered to notice, in a lightly tilting orbit around Saunduas, a planet of glorious beauty and superb social activities, the Monday morning doldrums were settling with resounding presence. 

True, morning on a spacecraft has no true distinction from any other time, and Mondays became extinct when the planet Earth was destroyed, and Doldrums had not once been spotted in this specific region of space (at least not by reliable witnesses), but Arthur Dent would attest they were settling just the same. 

He was currently staring vaguely at a light which blinked green on and off, and sometimes blue. He had no real knowledge of what the light expressed, or suspicion it might be important (It was, actually, tied in to a more obscure part of the ship's interior decoration repair systems), only an astonishing lack of anything other to do. 

He had woken up to discover he was still recovering from an evening of the spectacular Saunduas events, and that none of the others from the ship could be found, presumably still working on them. Also, the Nutri-Matic Drinks Synthesizer refused to acknowledge his many requests for tea, citing, for some reason, airlock procedures. 

He eventually wandered to the bridge, where he did terrible at a game of _Fun Crosswords For Kids_ until he learned how to look up the answers. After that he did quite well, until he came to the clue, "Has seven legs, one of which is green," and found the solution was "Hamster," at which point he closed the crossword and started watching the light. (Arthur Dent originated from the previously backward and currently non-existent planet Earth, and is not aware of the galaxy famous sculpture named for its first owner's favourite daughter, or of the deep philosophical point its creator was making by painting only one of her legs green.) 

Green. Green. Green. 

Green. 

Green. Green. Green. Green. Blue. 

Arthur scratched another mark into the fern beside the console. 

Green. Green. Blue. 

And another one. He frowned at the plant in concern. There were an awful lot of gouges in it. He glanced at the corner where Marvin the Paranoid Android sat concentrating on how much he hated the individual molecules in the wall, and then at his watch. His watch casually maintained that it was Friday afternoon, despite all the evidence to the contrary. It reminded him it was nearing tea time. He swore at it. A few minutes later he swore at the Nutri-Matic when it helpfully explained the best way to blow oneself out the airlock. 

Green. Green. Green. Green. Green. Green. 

Pause. Green. Green. 

Arthur picked up his copy of _The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy_ and typed in "Green." There was a pause, and then a novel length table of contents scrolled up. He picked one at random, and was surprised and not a little irritated when it concerned Zaphod Beeblebrox. 

_When asked his favourite colour, said the _Hitchhiker's Guide_, Zaphod Beeblebrox is quoted to have answered: "Green. Or maybe not. But weird things happen when green is involved, hey?" It is interesting, although probably completely unrelated, to note that as a child, Zaphod wanted to pilot a Betelgeuse trading scout, a vehicle which is traditionally green._

The _Guide_ suggested Arthur should read more about Zaphod Beeblebrox, or perhaps go on to the entry on frogs. As Arthur didn't believe there could be many pertinent facts about frogs, particularly now that their world was demolished, he reluctantly followed the first link. 

The screen lit up with a rather brilliant photograph of Zaphod, his heads turned slightly towards each other and laughing while reporters, citizens, and fans waited a solemn distance away. It was far from clear what he found so hilarious, but the carefree image clashed nicely with the orange sash representing the responsibility of the President of the Galaxy, which in turn clashed horribly with the clothes he was wearing underneath it. 

_The_ Hitchhiker's Guide_ has much to say about the orange sash the President of the Galaxy traditionally wears, although not at the spot at which Arthur Dent was currently glaring. It mentions that there are many stories about the origin of the sash, all of which are wrong. The previous President, Yooden Vranx, explained that the mystery was important to everything it stood for, while Zaphod Beeblebrox once mentioned he believed some past President was exceptionally drunk one time and put it on by mistake._

The photograph faded slightly, and Arthur was presented with options such as "Sightings" and "Reward." There was a poll in one corner that informed him that seventy-six percent of galactic voters would vote for Zaphod again, or at least not against him. In another there was a blocky black and white photograph of something vaguely humanoid, under which were the words, "What is Trillian?" Because, in Arthur's opinion, the answer was, "Much more interesting," he chose that entry. 

_Trillian, claimed Zaphod Beeblebrox, claimed the_ Guide_, isn't anybody in particular, which, as far as anyone can tell, is true. Any attempt at a background check has failed, indicating she has lived a life amazingly isolated from any galactic centres or, more likely, she doesn't exist. She helped to design and build the _Heart of Gold_ around its Infinite Improbability Drive, and then helped Beeblebrox steal it. One of her coworkers went on record as saying, "Don't put me on record or anything, okay? She's great to work with, and great to look at, but really smart. Insanely smart at times. I don't know what he sees in her." If it's true, as many have speculated, that Zaphod Beeblebrox is romantically involved with her, it would now be the longest such relationship of his life. Those who suggest that it was Trillian who corrupted the President to make off with the sensational new ship are given a copy of his bibliography and invariably withdraw the accusation._

Arthur began to wish he had stuck with the frogs. He wondered for a moment just how much of the guide somehow involved Zaphod and decided it would probably depress him. (Indeed, it would have depressed Zaphod to learn that the amount had dropped to just below two-thirds with the latest update.) Arthur turned off the _Guide_ and dropped it none too gently to the floor, and then turned his attention back to the computer console, which was now blinking pink. 

He sighed to himself, feeling he had missed some important transition. His watch informed him that what he had missed was tea time, and that perhaps he should consider thinking about dinner. His stomach concurred with that idea, despite the fact he hadn't even had breakfast yet. 

Arthur began to feel rather miserable and hungry, as well as terminally bored. He wished he had never left his native planet, and, when his brain chose to remind him what had happened to that particular lump of rock, he was shocked to find it didn't really make all that much of a difference to him at the moment. He looked back at Marvin and debated joining the robot in his considerations. 

"Hey there!" said a voice, startling Arthur rather badly. "I thought you might be interested to know I'm receiving a transmission." 

Arthur glanced around wildly before realizing the voice belonged to Eddie, the ship computer. He had, at that time, a wonderful view of the ceiling, an after effect of tripping painfully over a copy of _The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy_ that had been lying dangerously on the floor. 

"Er, what?" 

"Somebody out there," continued the computer, bright and perky as any TV personality, "wants to talk to you. Rather badly, I might add." 

"Er, really?" said Arthur, climbing back up to his knees. 

"Oh, for sure. They're broadcasting all over my emergency channels." 

"Well, put them through," Arthur said. He kicked the _Guide_ under the console. 

"Absolutely. And, if there's anything else you need, please don't hesitate to ask. I just want to-" 

"Yes, alright." Arthur gave what he hoped was a polite smile in what he hoped was the general direction of the computer. 

"Okay, then," said the computer, and the screen at the front of the bridge changed from a peaceful scene of the planet to a rather hectic one. The face of the man who appeared jarred up and down in the view as he ran. It grinned a relieved and hopeful grin at Arthur while his other head swore at the angry mob pursuing him. 

"Monkeyman!" he shouted. "Listen, you can do me a big favour and get us out of here, yeah?" His other head looked sheepishly at Arthur for a second and then resumed insulting the approaching crowd. "We seem to have gotten a bit of attention from the locals," Zaphod explained, and then he ducked as a rock-like object came flying near him. 

"Hey, now," he yelled over his shoulder, "there's no reason to get nasty about it!" 

"About what, exactly?" asked Arthur, suddenly very glad to have been stuck on the ship after all. 

"It's not important." 

Another rock flew by, followed by an off screen yelp, a thud, and a few choice words from someone who sounded a lot like Trillian that pretty much summed up the situation. Zaphod glanced back and shouted, "You okay, Babe?" while his other head became distracted by something another out-of-view voice said. The result of this precarious situation was that the screen broadcast, in quick succession, an image of Ford Prefect glancing guiltily backward while running forward, some grass and bushes, an overhead view of Trillian hobbling impressively fast, a large yellow blur with a striking resemblance to an angry crowd holding and letting go of stones, Zaphod howling on the ground, a close-up of a dust cloud, and finally settled on an amazing view of the lavender sky. 

Arthur stared dumbly at the screen as parts of his brain called up other parts of his brain to talk about what they had just witnessed, only to discover that the other parts were still mostly hung over and, on further inspection, so were the first parts themselves, discussed what exactly that meant for a while until a slower dendrite that hadn't quite caught on to the new topic suggested perhaps that something should be done about the first problem. 

"Computer?" he said. 

"Hi!" said the computer. "It's really great to talk to you again so soon. I know I'm going to have a great time doing whatever you want me to do." 

"Er, great. Do you think you could get everyone off the planet?" 

"Certainly! Where do you want them?" 

"What?" Arthur frowned. "Uh, here, of course." 

The computer hummed for a moment. "On the ship?" it said, obviously in some consternation. 

"Er, yes." 

"This ship?" 

"Yes." 

"Everyone?" 

A battle cry erupted from the view screen, interspersed with claims of: "It was all a misunderstanding!" With a sudden flash of insight, Arthur realized what the computer thought he wanted. 

"No! No, actually. Just Ford and Trillian, and," he added, "Zaphod. On the ship." 

"Okay!" said the computer. "And anywhere else in particular?" 

"Uh, no..." 

On the screen, dozens of the feathery beings, who had seemed so friendly while they were helping him become completely drunk only hours before, were busy dismembering the Sub-Etha communicating device. 

"And, er, now," Arthur said, "would be a very good time to do it, I would guess." 

"Well, you're the boss," said the computer. 

A few things happened quite suddenly after that. Trillian fell over immediately as the bush she had been leaning on vanished, or rather, the small plant was gratefully left with only its own weight to support as she vanished. Ford collided with the wall of the bridge when his eyes didn't manage to communicate his present location fast enough to his feet. Zaphod, realizing he no longer had to plead for his life, stood up. And one-point-three billion feathered yellow creatures were very surprised to find themselves floating through space in a giant green soap bubble. 

* * * 

"Sorry about that," said Ford to Marvin, who he had tripped over on his way to the wall. 

Marvin turned his head slightly to look at him, gears and machinery grinding and groaning to make it clear just how much of an effort the movement took. "Oh, you're sorry, are you?" he said. "I doubt it. I suppose you felt the complex tasks of a simple menial robot were too much for my capabilities to handle, and have now degraded my status to that of a footstop." His head creaked slowly back to face the spot where Ford had hit the wall. "And not an altogether successful one at that. Don't feel bad for me, though; I've come to expect it." 

"Alright," said Ford, and left him. 

"Now that was some party," he said as he approached the others. Arthur stopped listening to Trillian mutter about a sprained ankle and Zaphod complain that he had hurt one of his heads so badly when he fell, he couldn't remember which one it was, to gape at Ford. 

"I see. And being chased by a homicidal alien mob is _usually_ a sign of a great night out?" he said, and instantly regretted it, seeing how it might be true. 

"Actually," said Trillian, "it was going quite well until Zaphod chose to insult their main god." 

Both Zaphod's heads jerked up, glanced at each other, and winced. "How was I supposed to know they would overreact like that? Besides," he continued, "what kind of self-respecting planet worships a giant esophagus?" 

"A what?" asked Arthur. He was remembering with nostalgia the time he had spent alone with the blinking light. 

"It would seem," said Ford, "that the dominant society of Saunduas somehow came to the conclusion that the primordial soup they evolved from was _actual_ soup that some god, or Its esophagus, found It couldn't handle all that well. So every night, you see, they drink enough that someone pays, eh, homage to the event and-" 

"I have a strong suspicion," said Arthur, "I don't really want to know. 

Ford shrugged. "Ah, well, we're really glad you were boring enough to leave before the main event, so you could save us and all." He wandered past Zaphod, who was still trying to decide which one of his heads was the sore one, to the console. Trillian said a few concerned things about the injured fern, which he mostly ignored. 

"Is there any real reason we're still here?" he asked. When no one answered he punched a few random equations into the computer and activated the Improbability Drive. 

* * * 

About half an hour after the _Heart of Gold_ flashed an uncertain distance across the galaxy, a few thousand Doldrums of the Monday morning variety that had recently settled in the Saunduas system discovered everyone had left and, with a dejected sighing and despondent activating of engines, carried on in search of new company. 

Author's Notes: 

It should be mentioned right about now that whether or not this story has ended is irrelevant, because I'm finished with writing it. For the sake of mental well being, let's say it _is_ done. It was, after all, only an interlude (but to what, I'm not quite sure). 

Also, I suppose I ought to tell you all that this whole thing was just a shameless plug. I have recently created a website, and as such am very excited. I am advertising. I hope I've managed to be somewhat entertaining while doing so, like a beer commercial. 

If you want to comment on my methods, my addy is hitchhikerslibrary@yahoo.ca, or there's a neat little review thing below. 

Click [here][1]. It goes to [The Hitchhiker's Library][1] www.geocities.com/hitchhikerslibrary. You know you want to. I mean, haven't you already read everything here? 

   [1]: http://www.geocities.com/hitchhikerslibrary



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